Seven
by icaughtabearonce
Summary: Seven days till he comes to get me. To kill me. I've never been afraid of death and I never will be - even as it stares me in the face. I have nothing. I've made my peace. Short chapters but please read and review!
1. Seven

**Chapter One:-Seven**

****Seven days till he comes to get me. To kill me. I've never been afraid of death and I never will be - even as it stares me in the face. I have nothing. I've made my peace.

I doesn't seem real. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke. A letter was posted through my door two weeks ago saying that 'they' were watching me. I chuckled as I read it, but it became less than funny when I received more letters everyday after that, counting down to one specific day. The 3rd of July. The one year anniversary of Sherlock's death. That's when I started wondering if it was Moriarty. I know Sherlock told me he invented Moriarty but I still refuse to believe he told me a lie.

I'm not worried about what is going to happen to me at the end of this week, though I know I should be. Since Sherlock's death, I haven't exactly been careful. I leave doors and windows open, I don't look when I walk out into roads - hell, I even left the oven on overnight. I'm not suicidal, but if something terrible were to happen I wouldn't try to stop it. Maybe whatever is going to happen to happen to me in a weeks time is for the best, even if it is death.


	2. Six

**Chapter 2:-Six**

Six days left. The note today said that if I went to the police there would be 'consequences'. Idiots. They've been harassing me for two weeks now, if I was going to get the police involved, I would have done it by now. I feel like I should be doing more to try and stop this, but I gave up a long time ago.  
What would be the point anyway? If I'm right, and this is Moriarty, what are the police going to do? They had him last time, but he got free. All this just seems pointless. What is he waiting for? It's not like he's getting pleasure from scaring me because I'm not scared. He isn't getting any sort of reaction from me. The notes are posted, I read them and I burn them, just as instructed. Does he get pleasure from knowing I will die on the same day as Sherlock? I wonder what goes through his mind as he writes them. If it's even him at all.

Why am I not ending this now? Why am I waiting for some lunatic to come and do it for me? I could easily go and get another gun since Mycroft took my last one. Maybe in some twisted part of my mind, I'm excited about what could happen at the end of these six days.


	3. Five

**Chapter 3:-Five**

I'm tired of waiting. I wish there was a way to contact whoever is sending these these stupid notes and tell them to hurry it up.

Lestrade called today, asking if I was doing okay, which was really weird. Why would he be worried about me? He hasn't really spoken to me since the funeral, except when he asked for a few of Sherlock's notes. I told him I was fine, and he started asking if anything had been happening recently and I told him no, I haven't been doing anything and he seemed upset. He said goodbye and then hung up like he was in a hurry to get off the phone.

I went to the flat on Baker Street, too. The bullet holes in the wall had been filled in by Mrs Hudson and it didn't feel like home anymore. I left quickly. It didn't feel right being in there without _him_, knowing that he's never going to walk through that front door ever again. I didn't feel like I belonged there anymore.

Why am I still feeling these things? He's been dead for nearly a year now and in a few days, I might be too. I have no purpose without him.

**A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while, a lot of stuff has been going on but I'm going to update later on today, I promise :)**


	4. Four

**Chapter 4:-Four**

Four days. 96 hours. Why does time seem to be going so slowly? I've been slowly losing my mind. It's like the walls are closing in on me and my thoughts are crushing the world around me.  
The nightmares are back too. Whenever I close my eyes I go back to that day. Watching Sherlock on that roof. Watching him cry as he told me none of this was real, that he was a fake. Watching helplessly as he fell to his death. I always wake up covered in a thick layer of sweat with the sheets tangled around my legs.

My routine is the same day in day out. Wake up shouting in the early hours of the morning. Drink an excessive amount of tea. Burn the newly posted note after I've read it. Drink more tea. Sleep. I'm so sick of it, but I make no attempts to do anything else. It's not like it makes me sad, I don't feel anything anymore. It's weird but there's nothing I can do about it anymore. It's better than feeling that crushing sense of loss and sadness and loneliness.

The note today told me to be patient but I don't know how much longer I can wait. This is torture.

**A/N: Sorry I didn't update again yesterday like I said I would! I was about to start typing it up but I had to go out :c**


	5. Three

**Chapter 5:-Three**

I have no one to say goodbye to. I've been thinking of calling Sarah, but the last time we spoke wasn't exactly on good terms.  
After the funeral she just kept ringing and texting me and after a while I stopped replying. When I stopped answering, she started coming round to my flat. I asked her nicely to leave me alone for a while but she didn't listen and just kept calling and texting and knocking and I just snapped. I didn't mean to shout; I told her that I didn't want to see her again and if she didn't leave me alone I'd call the police. I know it was horrible and the wrong thing to do but I just couldn't do it anymore and I didn't know what else to do.

I don't think Sarah, or anyone in their right mind, would pick up after the way I treated her. Maybe I should go to her apartment and say goodbye and tell her to have a great life, because she deserves it. I can't do it yet though. Maybe in a couple of days..

I should probably say goodbye to Mrs Hudson too, now that I think about it. I haven't seen her in a while.

**A/N: I'd love to hear what you think is going to happen, so please either leave it in a review or PM me c:**


	6. Two

**Chapter 6:-Two**

I took a walk around today. Watching people so full of emotion made me realise how numb I actually am. Too late to go to a doctor now, right?  
At this point, I feel like there's nothing I can do for myself. And even if there was, what would be the use, I may only have a couple of days left.

I never had that problem when Sherlock was around. Maybe that's because I never had time to really think about myself, I had to worry what Sherlock was doing, or how he came across to other people. I wish I could go back to that. The simplicity of not having to look after yourself, only the people around you. But Sherlock is gone, and soon, hopefully, I will be too. There's no one else to look after, only myself and that doesn't seem to be going so well.

Sometimes I dream that Sherlock is the one sending me the notes. Oh, how I wish it were true but I saw him jump from that hospital roof and I was at his funeral. It can't be him.

**A/N: I'm really sorry this chapter is so short! I ran out of idea's. But to make up for the shortness of this, I'll post the next chapter :)**


	7. One

**Chapter 7:-One**

**A/N: So, I've really confused myself with everything, but the next chapter is the last one!**

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I did go talk to Sarah. At first she shut the door in my face, which was to be expected. I waited outside and asked her to hear me out, and she eventually did. She let me in and made me a cup of tea. Her boyfriend came in a few times but Sarah told him to give us some space to talk.

Sarah told me that she met Mark, the boyfriend, a few weeks after our 'falling out' as she put it, and they hit it off really well. I listened to her story and forced a smile when it was expected from me. After she told me all about her relationship, her face grew serious. She looked me dead in the eye and told me that I'd changed, that something was different about me. I knew what she meant right away, she thought the light which was Sherlock's life had vanished from my eyes. I started getting shifty and told her that I had to leave, but I hoped she had a great life and that I hoped her and Mark had a great life together. She gave me this strange, steady look. "Don't do anything stupid." was what she said when I was walking out of the door. I chuckled despite everything that had been going on. If only she knew.

I limped home quickly - since Sherlock had been gone my limp had come back, so I had to dig around to find my old cane - and thought about the look Sarah gave me before drifting into another fitful sleep.


	8. Zero Pt1

**Chapter 8:-Zero Pt.1**

**This chapter is in third person POV. Sorry I made you wait so long! Also, this is split up into two parts :)**

John woke up that morning feeling better than he had felt for the whole year. He had made his peace with the world, there was nothing else he could give. Although he couldn't say he felt happy, he felt... alive. Which was ironic.  
A few minutes after the ex soldier had had his first cup of tea of the day, he received a note with nothing but an address on it. After memorizing it, he burned the small square of paper, just as he'd done with all the others.

John left the flat knowing exactly when he was going. First, he was going to Sherlock's grave and then he was going to find where ever the note had instructed him to go. Limping towards the grave was hard. He hadn't visited for a long time, he always ended up thinking of that day so eventually he stopped going. Today was different. Instead of begging Sherlock to come back, he was going to tell him to get ready, because he was coming to him.

After visiting the grave yard, John started making his way towards the place he was supposed to go. He had decided to walk, as not to leave any leads. There was another reason, though he would never admit it to himself. He wanted to see everything one more time as even though he didn't know if all this was some sick joke, and there would be no one there, he knew that today would be his last day alive. Even if he didn't die at this unknown location, he knew that he was done here. He had always thought that he would die in some heroic way - like in the war, or on a particularly dangerous case with Sherlock, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought dying on his own terms - suicide - would be a good idea. He knew that would be how this day ended.

It took John almost an hour to get to where he was meant to be. It wasn't hard to see why the person writing the notes chose this place. It was a bunch of abandoned warehouses in the middle of a few fields. He was a mix of nervousness and exhilaration as he walked towards the entrance of the warehouse. He would finally find out who had been sending these notes, but he was worried about what would happen depending on who was waiting inside. I hoped it was Moriarty, there was a few things he wanted to say to him.

The door was heavier than expected, but it didn't take John long to push his way in. It was huge, and it took him a while to find where he was supposed to go. Finally he found a closed door and stopped in front of it. He could hear the shuffling of feet and some pacing. Placing his hand on the cold metal, he began having second thoughts. It wasn't too late to turn around and leave, no one would know better, he could just as easily do this on his own terms in the 'comfort' of his own home. No, he had to do this, he had come all this way. There was no point in backing out now.

With a shaking hand, John slowly pushed the door open and came face to face with...

Mycroft Holmes.

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**A/N: So there's part one! You finally know who it was! Part 2 is a little shorter than this and will wrap everything up. Please leave a review telling me what you think, I'd appreciate it a lot ^_^ Part 2 will be up tomorrow**


	9. Zero Pt2

**Zero Pt.2**

Behind Mycroft was Molly Hooper and Greg Lestrade and... no, it couldn't be him. Sherlock Holmes, pacing around the room. He stopped and looked John straight in the eye. It couldn't be - this wasn't happening, it was in his head. It had to be in his head.

Everyone whipped their head round to the door when it opened and stared at the man frozen in place in front of them. This couldn't be happening. What was going on? The ex soldier was stood, frozen on the spot in confusion and hurt. Millions of questions were racing through his mind.  
What were they doing here?  
This lot couldn't be behind it, could they?  
Was he in the wrong place?  
_Was that really Sherlock?_

"I think I've got the wrong place, excuse me." He managed to say out, shuffling to get out of the door again.  
"You're in the right place, John." Mycroft sighed, sounding impossibly tired.  
"No, this can't be right. There has to have been some kind of mistake." John whispered, on the brink of hysteria.  
"No mistake." Sherlock assured him, voice just as silky as he remembered. John's eyes snapped towards his best friend's. He was real. He was alive. He was standing right there. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell to his knees. Lestrade came over to help him up, but the doctor leaned away from him.  
"You all let me believe my best friend was dead?" He wasn't expecting an answer but of course Sherlock had to get a word in somewhere.  
"I'm sorry John, it was necessary." Sherlock said, edging towards him ever so slowly.

"Why did you come?" Mycroft asked, looking John right in the eye.  
"You know full bloody well why I came" He replied accusingly. Molly and Lestrade bowed their heads and looked uncomfortable. They all knew. Especially the Holmes brothers. They knew as soon as he walked through the door.  
"I'm so sorry, John." Sherlock whispered as he sat down next to his friend. John felt the presence next to him, and collapsed into the familiar body next to him. The taller man flinched at the contact at first but almost instantly wrapped his arms around the broken man sobbing into his chest.

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**A/N: So there you have it! Please tell me what you thought of it. I'm sorry if it wasn't well written in places or anything. Thank you to those of you who read and left me a comment! **


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